


Hummingbird

by Crollalanza



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Beginnings, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:08:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23202973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: Mila Babicheva had hardly dared look at Sara Crispino when she'd joined the Senior circuit, let alone speak to her, but all that changed when she snapped a lace and Sara stepped in to help.
Relationships: Mila Babicheva/Sara Crispino
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10
Collections: Valentine's Day Lockers 2020





	Hummingbird

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mayerwien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayerwien/gifts).



> This is for May. I hope you enjoy this as I've loved diving back into this fandom to write it.

Sara Crispino had not exploded onto the ice skating scene, rather she had glided. When other skaters thought of her, it was as a constant presence, one they were aware of, but rather like a humming bird in their vicinity, not the crow cawing dissent.

Mila Babicheva, however, had watched her from the sidelines for years, the skater she’d looked up to in Juniors, and followed eagerly into Seniors. A goddess on skates. At the time she’d wondered if she’d always be playing catch up, especially when she saw her land the triple lutz triple loop combination for the first time in competition. She’d hardly dared look her in the face, least of all speak to her, but then at sixteen, she was lacing her skate before practise when the lace came apart in her hand. Desperately looking around for someone to help out before Yakov yelled again, she’d found herself looking up into Sara’s warm brown eyes.

“Here, I have a spare,” she’d said, holding one out to her.

“Thank you,” she managed to splutter back in English.

“It’s actually Mickey’s,” she whispered, joining her on the bench. “But he’s had his practise and is now < _bugging_ > Emil about something he < _thought he heard him say >_ to me, so I < _needed_ > to escape.” Mila’s confusion must have shown on her face because Sara sighed. “Sorry, do I speak too fast?”

“Um…” she blinked, then started to tug out her broken lace. “My English is not good yet, but this is Michele’s? Will he be … um … angry?”

“Not with you,” Sara replied. “But if I’d given it to Christophe…” Rolling her eyes, she stood up. “Your coach is waiting and who is that fierce lady with him?” She mimicked a dark scowl and sucked in her cheeks.

“Ahh!” Mila redoubled her efforts to tie her lace, “Madame Baranovskaya. His wife … um… _not_ wife now.”

“Ex-wife, I see. Why is she here?”

“Ballet teacher.” The lace slipped through her fingers. “Oh no!”

“Come here,” Sara whispered and knelt on the floor. Her nimble fingers threaded the lace through each eyelet, until she reached the ankle. “I’ll let you tighten it. “Good luck with the dragon!”

And then she was off, flashing Mila half a smile before she followed the sound of her brother’s voice as he yelled her name.

“Who was that you were talking to?” Viktor asked as Mila stretched after her the session.

“When?”

“Before your practise. I came down a little early to watch you.”

“Oh… you did?”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Viktor murmured and pulled a small curl escaping from her high ponytail. “Female skaters have a certain grace that I admire.”

“Do you?” She blushed a little. “Am I graceful? I fell over a lot today.”

Viktor tilted his head to the side. “On your day, yes, but you are going through that gawky stage right now. Don’t worry, it happens to us all. Nail those jumps while you get used to your changing body, eh?”

From anyone else, he’d have sounded like a creep, but Viktor for all his distance masked by teasing, did know what he was talking about and, unlike Yakov and Madame Baranovskaya, didn’t seem to have forgotten what it was like to be sixteen.

“I’ll do my best,” she said.

“Ah, there’s my Mila,” he whispered. “You didn’t say who it was had made you smile before practise?”

“Was I smiling?”

“Inwardly, yes.” He sighed. “You don’t have to tell me. I’m only teasing.”

“It was Sara Crispino,” she replied, hoping he couldn’t hear the slightly breathy tone to her voice. “She gave me a lace.”

“A true lady,” he replied, and chef’s kissed the air. “And very graceful. You should watch her carefully.”

When the competition had ended, and Sara had glided elegantly onto the silver medal rostrum, Mila watched the replays in the dressing room, dawdling as she packed up her bag. There was something hypnotic about the way Sara skated; it looked effortless, and then she’d leap high, spin fast and tight and land each jump with such panache that it punched the breath out of her.

“You are late!” Yakov remonstrated.

“Let her be,” Viktor yawned, but smiled at her as he threaded his arm through hers. “First big competition as a senior, eh?”

“I messed up,” she muttered.

“You’re learning.”

“And you’re too kind. Well done on your gold!”

“Ah,” he fingered the medal around his neck. “Amazing that so much time, work and love go into winning something so … flat.”

“Oh…”

“Worth it, though,” he whispered. “And it will be your turn soon enough.”

“Sara Crispino did well,” Mila blurted out. “She looked beautiful on the ice today!”

“She did, yes. It was her Short that let her down, but then her brother was fussing at her costume before she went on.”

Mila had noticed that, watching from the side, she’d been unable to divine the conversation, but had seen Michele talking nonstop while Sara glowered then put a smile on her face before skating on to the ice. And yet, he’d been the first person she’d hugged on winning silver. “He’s very … um... They’re … uh …”

Viktor chuckled. “One day they’ll have to let each other go. I suspect for Sara that day will come sooner than for Michele.”

Sara followed her on Instagram a week after the competition. With a slight clutch of breath, Mila wondered if she was amused or surprised to discover Mila’s been following her for a while.

 **< <Hey there. I should have followed you back earlier>>** Sara messaged her. **< <Loving all your pictures. Especially that brat throwing the tantrum>>**

**_< <Ha Ha – that’s Yuri. He is a brat! Has talent!>>_ **

**< <I won’t tell Mickey. He can only see the competition>>**

**_< <Congratulations for silver>>_ **

**< <Thank you. If I hadn’t messed up the short, it would have been gold ** **L** ** >> **

_If If If_ Yakov used to shout at them all. _You cannot use ‘IF’ as an excuse!_

 ** _< <_** **But then, if I’d not landed that combo, then I’d not have got silver >>** Sara continued. **< <I’m pretty happy. You looked good out there>>**

**_< <I messed up>> _ **

**< <You overbalanced, but you got back up and you look fiery>>**

**_< <What?>>_ **

**< <like fire! A firework. Explosive!>>**

**_< <Oh thank you. I can’t get my jumps right. Easier last year. >>_ **

**< <It’s your age. You’ll soon be stronger and better and overtaking me for gold!>>**

They continued to message and slowly Mila found herself unfurling, her nerves disappearing as the image of the glamorous goddess that was La Crispino, became someone far more relatable, someone she could giggle with, someone that despite her smooth tanned skin, liquid ink black hair and eyes that melted ice, was clearly just as relaxed and happy in sweat pants and hoodies as she was in her sequins. 

Despite the fledgling friendship, it was a year later that they found themselves relaxing in each other’s company. The strictures of competition schedules and Sara suffering a shoulder injury had kept a distance between them, although when they had bumped into each other in the changing rooms, or rinkside, they’d exchanged smiles and pleasantries as easily as the messages that went back and forth.

It wasn’t sequins or skates they were dressed in that evening, nor sweatpants and hoodies, but glamorous gowns as they both attended the Gala. With champagne dancing on her tongue, Mila longed to dance, but she’d been warned by Viktor these affaires were boring, and Madame Baranovskaya was chaperoning her with her most intense hawk eyes.

Then, just as she’d caught Sara’s eye and waved, Yuuri Katsuki drank far too much champagne and the ‘rather dull affaire’ became the party of the decade.

While an impromptu pole dancing competition began, the men stripping down to underwear and Michele screaming for his sister to cover her eyes, Sara scuttled across to Mila and slipped her hand into hers. “Don’t leave my side, please,” she hissed. “He can’t drag me away if you’re here. And this is so much fun!”

“As long as you promise to help me drink more champagne. Madame allowed me one glass, but has insisted I drink orange juice now.”

“Deal!” Sara reached across to a tray of glasses, and poured half of one into Mila’s drink. “There, that’s Buck’s Fizz. Now smile at Mickey if he comes over, and at the Dragon Lady, and they’ll both assume we’re being good!”

And whether it was the drink, Sara’s presence, or the fact Yuri Plisetski had now been goaded into a dance off with Katsuki, Mila didn’t know, but she was lightheaded, her senses spinning as quixotically as any of her jumps, while the men cavorted she watched Sara’s lips curve into a smile and her laugh filled the room.

“What a night!” Sara said at last, taking Mila’s arm. “Now ‘Madame’ has dragged the brat away and Mickey’s looking for me, how about we grab a bottle and disappear to a balcony?”

It was cold on the balcony, but Sara swiped two tablecloths and draped one over Mila’s shoulders before taking the other, and the pair of them sat on iron chairs overlooking the city. Taking off her heels and pulling the band off her hair, Sara leant back in her chair and laughed at the stars.

“If only every competition could end this way,” she cried. “Katsuki is an angel. I’m not sure Mickey knew what to do, scared stiff he’d get dragged in to dance, even more terrified I would be.”

“Why do—?” Mila broke off.

“Why what?”

Champagne had made her bold. “Why do you let him boss you around like that?” She bit her tongue. “I’m sorry, it’s not my business.”

But Sara shrugged. “I’m used to it. He’s … protective. He always has been and he was right back then.”

“But now?”

“Ahhh…” She took a long slow glug of champagne. “Now, I find myself wishing I were more like Katsuki.”

“Dancing naked around a pole?”

“Being free,” Sara hummed. “Uninhibited. Able to do what the hell I want! Sometimes…” She stopped and bit back her words.

“Go on,” Mila murmured.

“Sometimes I wish we didn’t skate. I wish we were a normal brother and sister and I could leave all of this pressure, eat ice cream and parmesan whenever I want and …” Groaning, she helped herself to more champagne and topped up Mila’s glass. “I shouldn’t drink, it makes me _< maudlin_>.”

“Huh?”

“Maudlin… sad… wistful. Besides, Mickey would be just the same. If only he weren’t!”

“Then tell him,” Mila retorted.

“Pardon?” She widened her eyes, clearly taken aback by the tone.

“If, if if,” Mila quoted, then blushed. “Sorry.”

“No, explain,” Sara demanded.

“Yakov yells at us that we can’t use ‘if’ as an excuse,” she muttered. “Sorry, that’s rude. I know nothing about your brother, except that for all the fun tonight, you don’t seem happy.”

Staring mutinously across the city, Sara shifted in her chair, but instead of walking away, she scowled down at her glass. “I’m not. Sometimes I think about giving this all up.”

“No!”

“Ha!” She smiled across at her. “I won’t, not yet, not while I’m still hungry. Besides, if I gave up, I’m sure Mickey would too and then ….” Getting up, she slipped her feet back into her shoes, then leant over the balcony. “Is Plisetski joining the seniors next season?”

A change of subject, but Mila played along, joining her as they watched the city below. “He wants Viktor to choreograph his routine.”

“Ohhh, will he?”

She shrugged. “Viktor says things then loses interest. I swear he’s not … um …”She struggled to think of how to say malicious, “bad,” she settled for. “But he’s far off from us and he forgets.”

“Far off? Like ‘distant’.”

“Yes, yes, that’s what I meant.”

She chuckled. “He didn’t look distant tonight.” Turning around, Sara lifted her glass to her lips, but before taking a sip she held it out to chink Mila’s glass. “To Galas and closing that distance!”

But as they both toasted each other, Michele’s screech rent the air. “SARA!”

Yet instead of automatically turning to her brother, Sara rolled her eyes and continued to sip. Then, her lips to Mila’s ear and her hair soft like a hummingbird’s wings against her cheek she whispered, “How about a promise that next year—when we both win medals—we find a bottle of champagne and escape?” She gave a wink, even as Michele crashed through the French windows. “Is that a date?”

He whipped his head round, fury thundering across his face. “A DATE! Sara, what are you thinking… oh… it’s you!” His expression changed, irritation vying with relief.

Mila gave Michele her sweetest smile, the one she used when she was tired of Yuri’s petulance and was about to throw him over one shoulder. Draining her glass, she looked directly at Sara. “But no ‘ifs’, eh?”

Even as she took Michele’s arm and acquiesced to him leading her away, Sara laughed again turning back as she got to the door, to fix Mila with a shyer type of smile. “No ifs and no excuses, but a promise, yes?”

“Agreed!” Mila replied.

She stayed on the balcony a while longer, watching as the city moved into early morning, with dimming lights and less bustle. Sipping her champagne, she toasted Katsuki who’d livened them all up, Viktor who’d smiled far brighter than she’d seen in a while, and finally herself, Sara and the future twinkling in front of them.

“A promise, yes,” she whispered, and drained her glass.


End file.
